


Something Wicked, Something Pure

by Liquori



Series: Adventure Runs in the Family [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-18 08:43:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5916502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liquori/pseuds/Liquori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Khet is many things, but the Herald of Andraste is not one of them. She is not a holy figure, nor is she a savior. She is just a woman. An Elven mage woman, for that matter, who just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time and got divinely screwed over for it. Now she's being held prisoner in a stupid town that hates her, because of a stupid mark that's trying to kill her, being forced to fix the stupid sky she had nothing to do with to save a world that's done her no favors.</p><p>The only thing she cares about is getting her son away from these crazy shems, because she doesn't trust a single one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello beautiful people, just one thing before we get started. This is going to run parallel to the events of Inquisition, so there's going to be some event overlap, especially at the beginning. Despite that, however, there is going to be a lot of canon divergence. A lot of it. So be prepared for that. 
> 
> Also: graphic rape in this chapter. If you aren't into that, I understand. However, it is really important to understanding Khet both as a person and her situation in general. I cannot omit it. You can skip it if you like, though, that's totally up to you as the reader. You get out of this as much as you care to.

“The dreams are getting worse, aren't they?” Keeper's voice was soft, but her tone was stern, and Ra'Khetnahel could feel the harsh eyes of a wise leader boring into the side of her skull.

“No,” she lied. Her face burned with embarrassment from the truth she was trying to hide.

The Keeper angled to try to meet Ra'Khetnahel's eyes, but the child refused, averting her gaze in any direction other than the Keeper. “Deception attracts the Dread Wolf, Da'len.” The small one's eyes widened with sudden fear at the mention of the trickster god, the one the Keeper was supposed to protect the clan from.

“But-!” Ra'Khetnahel started, locks of pale hair falling into ice-hued eyes. Words failed her, so instead she took a deep breath, and hunched in defeat. “I'm sorry, Keeper... How do you know?”

The older elf placed a comforting hand on her back, a small smile pulling up the corners of her lips. “You are very gifted, child. It is normal for those with magic to have powerful dreams. It has shown itself in you very early, however, so I fear that these dreams are dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” The child repeated quietly, confusion and fear evident.

“Yes, dreams can be very dangerous, especially for mages. Spirits will be drawn to you as your dream-self walks the Beyond. They will want to possess you, use you as a tool to experience our world. You must never give in to the demons, Da'len. No matter what they offer you, never deal with demons. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Keeper,” she said, though being so young she could not truly understand. Her dreams lately had been vivid, and clear. Upon waking she remembered wandering unfamiliar lands with intent. They were not dreams as she knew dreams to be, yet she did not mind. This she did not tell the Keeper, in fear the she would take such fun dreams away; how could anything so amazing be dangerous?

 

Four years later, at age ten, Ra'Khetnahel and three other mages, including her sister, were distributed amongst mageless clans to train as Firsts. There was too much magic in her generation.

At first her new Keeper seemed nice enough. He spoke in soft tones, and there was a certain grace with his movements that both entranced her and made her inexplicably uneasy. He was very friendly along the journey back to where his clan was camped along the Storm Coast. He asked her many questions about life in her old clan. If she liked the Keeper, how the Halla were doing that year, and others of that nature. He said he wanted to build trust between them, if she was going to be his First.

His training methods were much more... personal, than her first Keeper's were. At first it made her uncomfortable, scared, angry, but he insisted it was the proper way to teach magic. It didn't make sense to her, _why did he need to touch her (especially_ there _) to teach her magic_ , but every time she questioned or refused he calmly insisted. “I can't teach you properly if you don't allow me this. If you really don't want to, we don't have to do it this way but you won't be able to be Keeper. This is the only way, Da'len.” She wanted to learn, even if this way felt horribly wrong, she just wanted to learn. So she would always agree. She'd cry silently as his hands ran under her clothes and his face buried in her hair, but she just _wanted to learn._ She was but a child, she didn't know it was wrong.

It went on for years, and it never got easier. She dreaded her private lessons, though it had to be admitted that there were results. Whether his teaching methods had anything to do with it she was doubtful, but there was no questioning her skill as a mage and her knowledge of her people's history, among other things she hesitated to deem necessary for a Keeper.

He never demanded anything more than her hesitant allowance for him to touch until she was sixteen. He was violent, then, using magic more powerful than anything she had ever seen to overpower her. It was too much, she didn't want it, she was old enough to know that this was _wrong, why was he doing this to her?_ She couldn't even scream.

Ra'Khetnahel soon after found that she was with child, and she was scared. She hadn't even received her vallaslin yet. She was not bonded, and no one would believe her if she told the truth. So she made up a story, that the child was a result of the recklessness of youth. The father was from another clan that they had encountered in passing recently. No one believed the lie, either.

She named him Athriel, and thankfully the Keeper never tried to claim him. However, the abuse didn't stop. She was still the Keeper's First, still his student, still his toy. He frequently enforced his strange magic over her, leaving her with wounds she could not pass off as acquired during training. A strong hatred for this man began to burn inside her. She once was afraid of him, and while she still was, she also absolutely despised him. It started off small, a candle flame, but every time he looked at her, spoke to her, touched her, her hatred grew. Though it was for naught. No matter how much hatred fueled the energy to fight him off, it never worked. She was always reduced to a trembling doll for him to play with at the wave of his hand.

His magic was terrible, and powerful, and _evil_. It made her body too heavy to move, to even twitch a muscle was impossible, but she was not numb. She was silent, and immobile, but she could feel everything magnified. The first time he took her was painful, there was little she could compare it to, though even before childbirth it was not the worst she had experienced.

He had called her to his aravel late at night for training, which she had thought odd considering the time. She was too scared to refuse him, however. The instant she stepped inside he grabbed her, throwing her to the ground; she was too shocked to respond, and that had given him enough time to cast his spell. The sudden paralyzation scared her, but not as much as the look on his face as he crawled over her, whispering things she didn't want to hear. How beautiful she was, the softness of her skin, how long he'd been waiting for that moment. He said he hadn't wanted to force it on her but he was growing impatient; Ra'Khetnahel would never agree.

His hands were shaking with excitement, her heart was racing with terror. He struggled to get clothing out of the way quickly, liking his lips at the sight of her bare skin. She wanted to run, hide, scream, cry, anything to get away from this _monster_ but there was absolutely nothing she could do while he ran his hands all over her body. She would have grimaced when he squeezed her breasts hard, leaving bruises she found the next day. She would have shuddered in disgust at the slimy feeling of his tongue on her skin. She would have cried when he shoved his finger inside her, pumping back and forth a few times before retracting it and holding it up for her to see how it shined, commenting on how much she must have been _enjoying_ it, before pushing two fingers inside aggressively and working his tongue on her as well. She could feel it. She could feel her body betraying her mind and the heat that mixed with her terror in the deepest pits of her stomach. Eventually, he pulled away, slithering back up her body. He swirled his tongue around each of her nipples before pressing his lips to hers, and despite her unresponsiveness she could taste what must have been herself on his tongue.

She wasn't expecting when he forcefully thrusted inside her. She wanted to scream in pain, but she couldn't even cry. She could only stare at the ceiling and pray that he would leave her soon. He was thrusting as hard as he could, stretching her too harshly too quickly. His pace was uneven and erratic as he moaned and whispered her name. _Ra'_ _Khet_ _nahel_ _,_ _Ra'_ _Khet_ _nahel_ _._ It's something she'd never get out of her head.

The many times after that were similar, and eventually she stopped trying to fight it. There was nothing she could do, and soon enough he didn't even need to use the magic anymore, she would just lie there and take it. It was inevitable, she told herself. There was nothing she could do except try to make it as quick and painless as possible. There were other things that deserved her energy. Such as her son, whom she loved deeply, despite the conditions surrounding his birth. He was a strong child, with a curiosity that could not be sated, and despite the clan's hushed dislike of her, the elders adored her son. She couldn't have been more proud of him. So for what she told herself was Athriel's sake, she stopped fighting the Keeper.

Yet the hate still burned. It was duller, now, muted by dispassionate acceptance of her fate, but it was there. She would hate the Keeper for the rest of her days, she knew that much. One day she would make him pay for the pain he caused her, the lies he forced her to tell, everything he stole from her. The day may not have come for years, but she knew it would.

 

The day she received her vallaslin she was a few months into her nineteenth year. She had done the meditations, the rituals, everything, and she knew Mythal was guiding her. Her vallaslin had to honor Mythal, Protector and All-Mother, goddess of motherhood and justice. She received her blood writing without flinching, but when she looked into the reflective glass to see the face of her adulthood, Khet was severely disappointed. The Keeper had not written into her skin a tribute to Mythal, but to Dirthamen, Keeper of Secrets.

She was absolutely enraged. This was a travesty of their entire culture! She whirled on him, ready to throw everything she had at him. This was the day she would get her justice. Yet he was calm, staring at her with level eyes and a plain expression. “Don't you like it?” He asked, a knowing grin slowly reaching from pointed ear to pointed ear. “I thought it more fitting for you because of our big secret, Da'len.”

Ra'Khetnahel didn't bother thinking, she just attacked, throwing absolutely every offensive spell she could think of, screaming at him hysterically. He was frozen in shock at first, giving her an opening to get a few really good hits in, but then he came back to his senses, throwing up defensive wards and refusing to engage because a crowd was forming. She didn't care. She just wanted to _kill him_. She didn't get the chance. No one intervened, but while she got quite a few good hits in on him he would always be better than her. They went at it until she collapsed, exhausted and sobbing.

Everything was quiet, for a brief moment, until his shadow fell over her. She looked up at him through her tears, and saw his eyes cold, his expression stiff with hidden disappointment and anger. “Ra'Khetnahel, First to the Keeper of this clan.” His voiced boomed with authority, so all could hear. “You have been charged with treason, and are hereby exiled. Gather your son and leave immediately.”

Exiled? At first she was filled with dread. She and her three-year-old son all alone in the wilderness? She would never live in a _Shemlen_ city, but how were they supposed to survive without the clan, just the two of them? Then it hit her, and it was all she could do to keep from smiling. She was exiled. To never return again. She was free! She would never have to see him again, and the thought filled her with such joy she could barely keep the hysteric giggle out of her voice as she uttered, “I understand,” and rushed off to gather her and Athriel's things.


	2. Four Years Later

“Shit,” Ra'Khetnahel muttered under her breath, the foreign tongue still heavy in her throat, despite it having been four years since she left her exclusively elvhen-speaking clan behind. The arrow she had just fired veered just slightly enough to the left that it missed her target, a ram a few meters away from her, and the mistake caused the beast to run away.

With a frustrated sigh, she tried to shake the winter cold out of her bones and swiftly followed after her target. Her steps were light and silent, and the tracks in the snow made it easy for her to follow the ram to another clearing where it stood alert. Immediately she dropped into a very low crouch and stayed perfectly still, waiting for her prey to become unsuspecting again. It took a very long moment she thought would never end, but it did slowly start to graze, ultimately. She took the quiet moment to draw back her bow, line the arrow up with her target and thwak! Right through the skull.

Triumphant, she quickly made her way over to the now dead ram. A pretty decent shot, she evaluated as she inspected her handiwork. When she was with the clan, she spent so much time in her studies that she hadn't taken up much archery. Life outside of the safety of their numbers forced her to learn, however, and while she had made vast improvements through necessity, she was still much better with a staff than she ever would be with a bow.

The journey back to her camp wasn't terribly long, but the ram was heavier than she had anticipated, leaving her muscles aching and her breathing labored as she finally arrived home. The success of her hunt would feed her and Athriel for a few days at the least, probably a little longer than that. Usually she brought home nugs and fennecs but she supposed that today was just lucky.

“Athriel?” She called out to her son, covering her kill with canvas to hide it from scavengers. “I'm home!”

The flapping of the tent opening announced her son's presence before his excited exclamation of “Mamae!” could. He ran into her arms, hugging her tightly and bubbling with laughter as she swung him around, despite the exhaustion in her arms.

“Hello, Sweetheart. It's still early. How long have you been awake?” He clung to her hand even after she had set him down, tugging her along with him back into the tent. Upon entering, she noticed that the toys he had gathered from their adventures were scattered everywhere, and frowned. Clearly he'd been awake some time if he'd been able to make this mess.

“I woke up after you left. I know it was soon because your bed was warm!” He pointed at what had been a very neatly made bed mat before she'd left, but was now a pile of strewn blankets, probably used to make a mountain or fort because of how many carved wooden figurines were resting in the folds.

“Nice detective work, young man,” she praised, ruffling his hair, and his smile swelled with glowing pride. “Now, is this pile a mountain or a fort this time?” She asked gesturing to what used to be her bed.

“Um... Both, I guess? Yeah, both!” Athriel decided with a firm nod, sitting down next to his creation and patting the ground beside him, signaling for his mother to sit, too. Of course she complied, ready to listen with motherly pride to what elaborate story his creativity had concocted today.

“It's sort of...” He continued, thinking about how to best describe what a both-mountain-and-fort would be like. “It is a mountain, but it has a fort on top!” He pointed to the figurines on top of the blanket pile, “And inside, too!” The head of a wooden soldier was pushed back into the folds where it belonged, in the underground tunnels and caves of the fort the young boy was describing. “But it's not a fort, Mamae, it's something else.”

“Oh?” She urged him on, curious as to what this not-mountain-fort was. This was the first time the pile of blankets wasn't exclusively a mountain/volcano or some sort of Fereldan military fort (ever since Linnea introduced him to Fereldan folklore it was all he could think about).

“Yeah. It's... I don't know how to describe it, Mama. It's not for soldiers at all but it's really important. Maybe a temple, but it's not one of ours.” The look on his face is thoughtful as he considers his playthings. “The people don't want to fight. That's why they're here. To not fight.”

Ra'Khetnahel's eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Not one of ours? Not Elven?” She'd taken him to a few small ruins in their travels but none of them had been massive temples of the ancients, they were too dangerous for him. They had passed by old castles and the like as well, but she'd never taken him to a chantry. How did he know what temples, especially not Elven ones, were like?

“Yeah, not Elven,” he confirmed, a little distractedly. “It's gone now.” He pulled the blanket and playthings went flying, the soldier that had been tucked away before flying towards her face. She deflected it with ease, but she was a little taken aback by the sudden turn of events.

“Why is it gone, Athriel?” She asked, her shock more apparent than she had intended. He didn't answer for a long moment, narrowing his eyes at what used to be an imaginary mountain.

“I don't know,” he finally answered, “but it isn't good.”

This wasn't the first time Athriel's playtime had gone in a cryptic direction, yet the young mother could never decide it was something she should be worried about or not. He seemed to hold an advanced amount of knowledge for his age, and while she had tried her best to properly educate him, she doubted it was because of her. There had been moments when the stories he played out were dangerously close to events of the past she had yet to teach him, the way he described it incredibly vague but the timeline of events unmistakably similar. The child never used names or numbers or any telling details, but a tale no matter the name will still be the same tale.

She'd always tried to convince herself that maybe he'd skipped ahead in one of their books, or maybe he'd heard a bard tell the tale while they were passing through a settlement. It was never enough to shake the uneasy feeling stirring inside her.

“Come on,” she eventually urged her son, who was still staring at the now flat blanket. “Let's go study your arithmetic. We skipped yesterday because you were tired.” The young elf groaned in protest, but nonetheless scooted closer to his mother as she dug through the books she had collected for his education. Most of them were written in the Human language, which had at first made it very difficult for them as their clan had spoken primarily in elven, and only Keepers knew the written language. The Keeper had taught her how to read it, but she never taught Athriel. She thought that had made learning other languages easier on him, along with the elasticity of his young mind.

She had struggled a little more than her son to get a good grasp on the Human language. After speaking Elven for so long, anything different proved to be a great challenge. Friends she met in her travels helped her, though, and now after four years she and her son could speak fluently, though she had a feeling the accent she had would never quite go away.

The rest of the day passed quickly for the pair, most of that time spent alternating between lessons and games, though the line between 'learning' and 'playing' was very thin. “Alright, young man, it's time to sleep. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

Naturally, the child's protest was instantaneous. “Mom,” he started, drawing out the word for as long as he could manage. “I'm not sleepy yet!”

“That's a lie and you know it!” She gently closed the book they'd been reading together and placed it with the others. “Haven't I told you that deception attracts the Dread Wolf? You yawned just a few minutes ago, so don't tell me you aren't sleepy.”

Athriel huffed, knowing his mother was right, but not wanting to admit it. “Fine,” he grumbled, crawling under the blankets and furs, his eyes falling shut the moment his head hit the pillow. She watched him for a moment, her expression both warm and weary. Ra'Khetnahel didn't miss her clan, but sometimes she wondered if it would have been better for Athriel if they had stayed. She couldn't provide him with everything a clan could. She couldn't provide him with friends his age, or a proper education (though she did try her best), and she just couldn't do all of the things various members of the clan could do. She struggled to clothe him well, especially during his growth spurts, and she was a poor excuse for a hunter. While she had some skill in healing magic, she hadn't known what to do when he broke his arm barely a year ago. Luckily they'd been near a city and she'd sought aid there. However, from what she'd seen, even living alone in the wilderness was better than living in an alienage, and even then if anyone had found out she was a mage they would have thrown her into a circle and Athriel would have been taken by the Chantry. She couldn't allow that.

These troubles ran circles in her mind often, especially when she was alone. She laid down beside the small child, remembering all the times he had caught a fever, or wounded himself, or had a nightmare. All the things she wished she could protect him from but ultimately could only do so much for. A quiet sigh slipped past her lips, trying to not think about such things, and she let her eyes fall shut.

 

“Look, Mamae! Look!” Athriel's tiny hand tugged on her coat, the other pointing excitedly at the tall wooden gates to Haven. It was not their first visit to the village, but Ra'Khetnahel reckoned he had been too young to remember it very well.

“There it is,” she responded, wrapping her fingers around his hand and guiding him to the main gate. The tall doors were open, welcome to the many travelers making their way from all over Thedas to attend the Conclave. “Do you remember which one is Catlen's?” She had a rough memory of where her friend lived, but she wanted to see how much her son remembered.

“It's that way, right?” He pointed to a path that broke off to the right just ahead of them, and she nodded her affirmation. She was surprised that he remembered, considering the last time they'd been to Haven was almost two years ago, though she and Catlen had been exchanging letters regularly.

“That's right! It is this way! Good memory, sweetie.” They followed the path he pointed out, and eventually came to a stop in front of a cabin that did not look very distinguished from the others around it. Despite that, however, Ra'Khetnahel was almost completely certain it was the right one. So with confidence, she guided Athriel up the few steps to the front door and knocked. The child shifted from foot to foot eagerly, brimming with excitement. He liked Catlen very much, if only because she always sent little gifts and candies for him with her letters to Ra'Khetnahel.

The door flew open, catching the elven pair a little off guard, but the woman standing behind it was grinning from ear to ear. “I was wondering when you were going to show up! You said you were going to be here a day ago! I was worried you'd gotten held up by bandits or something!”

“Catlen!” The boy rushed forward, wrapping his arms around the woman's leg.

“Maker's breath, is that you, Athriel?” She swung the child up into her arms to take a closer look. “My, you've grown so much since I last saw you! How old are you now?”

“I'm seven now!” He said with pride, a huge grin on his small face.

“Wow, you're almost grown, huh?” The human woman signaled with a nod for Ra'Khetnahel to follow her inside. “You lot must be hungry. What can I whip up for you? Stew? Fresh bread? Meat pie?”

Athriel gasped and looked at the two women with wide eyes, as if he finally understood the secrets of the universe. He paused a moment, eyes shifting and mouth hanging open, before he finally whispered the thought on his mind. “Cake!”

“Oh, no, you don't,” Ra'Khetnahel reprimanded. She knew exactly what he was doing. “Not until after you've eaten a proper meal.” The boy huffed and crossed his arms, but his disappointment didn't last long. Shaking her head fondly at her son, the elven woman turned her attention to the lady holding her child. “He likes meat pie.” The woman nodded, blonde bob bouncing with the motion. “Especially your meat pie.”

The two shared a grin. “That's what it'll be, then!” Catlen rushed off into the kitchen, Athriel still in her arms, and Ra'Khetnahel took a moment to sit in a chair in the corner. Through the window, farther up the mountain, she could see the shadowed outline of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Breath rushed out of her lungs at the sight of it, or rather what it meant. Tomorrow would decide the fate of all mages, not just the humans. That's why she had to be there. She had to know if she would no longer have to run from templars, and keep her son away from the Chantry. There was always danger, but maybe after tomorrow she wouldn't have to lie every time someone in a town asked about her staff.

But magic was dangerous, she agreed with the humans on that much, at least. A mage was always in danger of hurting herself or others. The so-called “rebel mages” seemed to be forgetting that. Ra'Khetnahel knew very little about Circles aside from what her Keepers had told her, and she based her detest on that minimal knowledge, but she felt there was a line that was being crossed.

The war was terrible, and it stretched across all of Southern Thedas. It made travel especially perilous, especially as a mage herself. She tried to go out of her way to use smaller paths and avoid main roads, but there were many people (not just templars) who would attack her and her son if they had just a suspicion that she were a mage. That was the main reason she had traveled to Haven – it was safe, if only for now. No one would attack her if they thought she was just a servant, or a mage attending the Conclave. The vallaslin made that cover a little harder to pull off, but humans were stupid, and would believe anything they wanted to.

 

The two women sat in front of the fire, chatting in hushed tones while the young boy slept in the next room. The sun had set a few hours before, leaving the house dark save for the fireplace and a few strategically placed candles. Ra'Khetnahel cradled a teacup between her palms, empty of all but the leaves and enough liquid to swish around the bottom. Normally, she would pass the remains to Catlen, who was a self-proclaimed tea-reader. She enjoyed the readings, though she could never decide whether she believed in the legitimacy of the practice or not. Tonight, however, she kept the cup to herself. Somehow, the thought of a reading made her uneasy.

“So,” Catlen started in a hushed voice, “I know you didn't just come to visit me. Are you here for the Conclave?” Ra'Khetnahel nodded her head silently. “Why? You're Dalish, what does it have anything to do with you?”

“I just want to keep him safe,” the elf responded, referring to her son. “That's been even harder to do since the war started. At first we just had to avoid towns with a heavy templar presence, but even that was difficult enough. Now templars are everywhere, and the mages are just as dangerous – even to a fellow mage. The supporters are especially ruthless. I saw a farmer get cut down a week ago by his neighbor. Thought he was a mage, because his crops were growing better.”

“Yes, that explains why it's important, but that doesn't explain why you're here.”

“No, I don't suppose it does.”

“Well?” There was impatience in Catlen's voice. “Are you going to tell me?”

Ra'Khetnahel took a deep breath, exhaling in a heavy sigh and running a hand through her snow white hair. “I don't really know how to explain it, I just feel like I have to be here. I could think of many logical reasons why I should be here, why I want to be, but nothing to explain why I need to be. I know it doesn't make sense, you don't have to tell me that. I mean, I'm a mage. While I'm not part of the Chantry, both my and my son's lives will be affected. Hopefully for the better, but if not I don't want to hear about it two months from now in a village while I'm being dragged off to a Circle or executed on the spot. Athriel needs me; I can't let them take me away from him.”

“I suppose that's fair,” Catlen agreed, taking their two teacups and walking to the kitchen. “Why don't you head to bed? I'm sure it's been a long time since you've slept in a proper one, and you'll need a good rest before tomorrow.”


	3. Prisoner

She woke with cuffs on her wrists and no memory of how they got there, or how she came to be inside what she could only assume was a prison cell. She'd never been inside one before, but if she were to imagine what they were like, that was what she would picture. Dim lighting, with what little of it there was glinting off the polished armor of city guards – or were they templars? She couldn't make out the symbol on the breast – and the sort of cold that normally accompanied isolation rather than winter winds.

The stone was hard on her knees, her neck was stiff, and she couldn't help but wonder how long she'd been asleep. The last thing she remembered was... what? She struggled to clear the fog of sleep from her mind, and it was then that she noticed the odd feeling in her left hand. Confusion knit her eyebrows together, and within her restraints she twisted her wrist to inspect her palm. Pain suddenly shot through her arm, and a gasp filled her lungs as the door at the front of the room burst open.

Two figures emerged from beyond the threshold, moving with purpose, but Ra'Khetnahel couldn't focus on them through her pain. Her eyesight blurred at the edges, and she feared that maybe whatever was wrong with her hand might force her into unconsciousness again.

“Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now.” The voice came from behind her, right next to her ear. She didn't remember seeing the woman move around her, but the other figure – another woman – stood before her. “The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you.” The both of them were before her now, and the pain had died away enough that Ra'Khetnahel could hear the words, though it took her a moment to process them.

What was this woman talking about? The Conclave wasn't until... Wait. Memories rushed into her head, making her dizzy. She remembered kissing her son's forehead when she left for the Conclave before he woke, remembered deliberately leaving her staff at Catlen's house, and sneaking into the Temple with some servant elves. Nothing after that, though. What had happened?

The woman with dark hair, the one who had spoken before, grabbed Ra'Khetnahel's left hand, seemingly impatient with her silence. “Explain this,” she demanded, throwing the elf's hand back down in a gesture full of disgust and hatred.

As if on cue, her hand started to glow green. “I can't,” Ra'khetnahel said slowly, trying not to reveal her fear or confusion in her voice.

“What do you mean you _can't_?” Was the instant reply, the woman's eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“I don't know what that is, or how it got there.” Aside from the mark or whatever it was on her hand, something felt very wrong about the whole situation. She needed to leave, escape, just grab her son and go. Whatever had happened, the only thing she needed to do was take Athriel far away from Haven. Why had she ever thought coming here was a good idea?

The woman quickly grabbed her by her coat, bringing their faces close together. “You're lying!” Her voice was full of anger, her eyes blazing with something much more powerful, and for a brief moment Ra'Khetnahel feared for her safety.

The other woman, the one who hadn't spoken yet, was quick to act, guiding her companion away from Ra'Khetnahel. “We need her, Cassandra,” she warned calmly before turning her attentions to the prisoner.

The elf met her eyes levelly. “What happens now?” She forced all emotion out of her voice, she would let nothing betray her.

It didn't matter, though, because the calmer woman ignored her entirely. “Do you remember what happened? How this began?”

More hazy memories returned to her, though she couldn't make much of them. The first woman, Cassandra, started to prowl circles around her again, having regained her composure. Ra'Khetnahel watched Cassandra while she tried to make sense of these new memories. It made no sense, but she had to give them something. “I remember running,” she started. “ _Things_ were chasing me, and then,” she paused, trying to clear up something especially fuzzy. “A woman?”

“A woman?”

Ra'Khetnahel nodded. “She reached out to me, but then...” She couldn't remember what happened next.

They seemed to get the hint, as Cassandra spoke to her companion next. “Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take her to the rift.” Leliana nodded and disappeared back through the door.

Cassandra kneeled before the elf, unlocking her restraints and guiding her to her feet before binding her wrists with rope.

“What did happen?” Ra'Khetnahel asked, feeling as if all her energy had been drained from her in this single encounter. Cassandra took a deep breath that was equally as drained.

“It will be easier to show you,” she replied, her voice defeated, and guided Ra'Khetnahel out of the prison.

The unease felt sick in Ra'Khetnahel's stomach, growing heavier with each step until it was almost unbearable. Thoughts of her son spun circles around her mind, adding panic to the mix that she desperately tried to snuff out. She wanted to ask after him, but she figured Cassandra knew nothing of him, and if Athriel could be used against her Ra'Khetnahel intended to keep him secret. She would not drag him into dangerous affairs.

Still, though, she worried for him. She wanted to see him more than anything else, just to know that he was fine. Obviously whatever had happened was big, and it killed a lot of people. She needed to know that Athriel wasn't one of them. She couldn't live without him, he was all she had. Her throat started to close up before her eyes started to sting, and dread weighed heavy in her heart.

Some of her fear was put to rest when the doors to the outside world opened, and she saw that they were still in Haven – the village itself was not damaged. But then she saw it, massive and the same shade of green as whatever was on her hand. The simplest way she could have described it would have been a giant hole in the sky, but that was not the half of it – that much was clear.

“We call it 'The Breach'.” Cassandra stated, following the elf's line of sight. “It's a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It's not the only such rift. Just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

Ra'Khetnahel's gaze snapped back to her captor at the word _explosion_. Her shock was evident. “An explosion can do that?” Of all the things that could have happened, an explosion was the outcome? Who could have done it? Hundreds of people were in the Temple! If what Cassandra had said earlier was true, and she was the only survivor, by the Creators what was happening to the world? Her head began to spin.

“This one did,” Cassandra affirmed, looking her dead in the eye now. “Unless we act, The Breach may grow until it swallows the world.”

In the distance, The Breach lit up, a line of light striking somewhere in the world. Ra'Khetnahel couldn't help the exclamation of her agony as a wave of sudden pain hit her like a charging Druffalo, forcing her to her knees. It passed quickly, however, leaving her lungs breathless and hands shaking. Cassandra knelt down to her level, maintaining eye contact as she spoke. “Each time The Breach expands, your mark spreads... And it is killing you. It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn't much time.”

Ra'Khetnahel was quiet for a moment, considering the weight of Cassandra's words. Her chest tightened a little bit, and though the pain had ebbed again she was very aware of the mark on her hand. Ra'Khetnahel did not fear death, one couldn't afford such luxuries when faced with the possibility every day. She did, however, refuse to leave her son alone in the world. She had friends who would take care of him in case she couldn't, but she could never abandon him.

She took a deep, shaky breath, and nodded. She knew what Cassandra wanted from her. This mark, whatever it was, was connected to The Breach. Cassandra was giving her the chance to deal with this willingly, instead of being dragged around by her hair. As much as Ra'Khetnahel wanted to spit in Cassandra's face and run, she recognized that she was in no condition to get very far, and such actions would worsen the situation. The best way to get out of this quickly was to play along, get Cassandra to trust her, and then sneak away when this was done. “I understand,” she finally agreed.

“Then...?” Cassandra was clearly surprised. Ra'Khetnahel couldn't blame her.

“I'll do what I can,” she continued. “Whatever it takes.” It was a lie, of course. She'd help until she could get away. Someone with more knowledge of the Fade than her would certainly be better suited for the job. They'd find a way without her.

Satisfied, Cassandra guided Ra'Khetnahel to her feet and they made their way through the village again. People were stopping to look at them, or well, her. They glared at Ra'Khetnahel with eyes she knew were demanding blood. Of course they blamed her.

Cassandra confirmed her suspicions as they continued onward. “They have decided your guilt. They need it. The people of Haven mourn our Most Holy, Divine Justinia, head of the Chantry. The Conclave was hers. It was a chance for peace between Mages and Templars. She brought their leaders together. Now, they are dead. We lash out, like the sky. But we must think beyond ourselves, as she did. Until the Breach is sealed.” They stopped on stopped on the bridge leading out of the village, toward what used to be the Temple. Cassandra turned to Ra'Khetnahel, taking out a small blade. “There will be a trial,” she said, slicing the ropes around her wrists. “I can promise no more. Come, it is not far.”

“Where are you taking me?” Ra'Khetnahel asked, rubbing her finally free wrists.

“You must test your mark on something smaller than The Breach,” was all she said, continuing across the bridge to the gates. They opened at Cassandra's command, and Ra'Khetnahel quickly realized that everything out there was absolute chaos.

Comets of green light were shooting from The Breach, hitting the earth with a ferocity she could not fathom. She could see soldiers running in every direction, hear their screams of terror and their battle cries. Fires burned along the path; some of the wreckage she could recognize as fortifications or abandoned carts, but most of it was just masses of destruction. She'd walked this path just this morning, and now it was a battlefield.

Cassandra led her up the path, ignoring the soldiers running back and forth around them, screaming to each other and their Maker, unintelligible prayers passing their lips as they scrambled on the snow – _please let me live, just let me see my family one more time,_ _let me tell my wife I love her._ She shared their fear. This was madness. Deep down, she wished this was all just a bad dream, but Ra'Khetnahel knew what dreams felt like, and this was not that.

In the distance The Breach lit up again, and she braced for the pain, but it wasn't enough. Her knees hit the ground and her shoulder dug into the snow. A sob escaped through her lips, and she bit her lip against any more. She would not show weakness.

“The pulses are coming faster,” Cassandra noted as she hauled Ra'Khetnahel up to her feet. She could feel the mark eating away at her. It was a slow process, but she could feel it. Slow, snaking up her palm towards her wrist. While the mark was small now, she knew in time it would kill her. Of all things, she would die to magic she did not understand. Wonderful.

The pair trudged onward, Cassandra speaking but Ra'Khetnahel too consumed in her own thoughts to pay any attention. Eventually they made it to another, larger bridge. As they stepped onto it she remembered feeling the stone beneath her feet as she crossed with a few other elven servants on their way to the Conclave. The two closest to her had been whispering to each other excitedly, the words Ra'Khetnahel caught suggesting the Divine to be the main source of their enthusiasm. Their faces were bare of ink, and one of them had cropped ears (likely at the hands of shem scum). Why were they so delighted to possibly see someone else's religious leader, she thought. Were they Andrastian themselves? She traced the lines of her vallaslin. She would never abandon her culture. Even if the Creators couldn't help her, or anyone else, she wouldn't abandon them to follow the words of a false prophet whose teachings would condemn her for being born.

A bright flash of familiar green dragged her out of the memory just before it hit the bridge, and the stone crumbled beneath her. The startled cry barely left her lips before her back hit the rubble hard, and despite the wind being knocked out of her lungs and the blood she could feel on the back of her skull she scrambled back to her feet, eyes searching for Cassandra. Maybe now was her chance to run.

Before she could turn to scramble up and over the rubble, back towards Haven, another comet hit the ground not fifteen feet ahead of her. The unmistakable forms of Shades emerged from the blast, their dark forms striking a fear in her heart she hadn't felt since she was young, and didn't know how to protect herself from possession. Now the demons were here, in the real world, and probably just as capable of destroying her, possibly more so.

Cassandra was quick to act, drawing her sword and letting out a war cry unlike anything Ra'Khetnahel had ever heard, and charged at the demons. The elven woman stared with wide eyes for a long moment before realizing that one of the Shades was making its way towards her.

Hastily she threw the first spell she could think of at it, a minor ice spell to slow it down while she thought of something else. Without a staff her magic would be weaker, though she would probably be able to hold her own without it. Hopefully. She'd never fought a Shade outside of the Beyond. They weren't supposed to _exist_ outside the Beyond without a host, and these Shades did not have hosts. Cassandra had said that demons were falling from the sky, but this... Why did she think going to Haven was a good idea?

She threw another ice spell to slow it down again – she couldn't think of anything else, it was all too overwhelming. Her feet carried her back, away from the demons. In the background she could see Cassandra throwing herself at the other Shade, hacking her way through its dark form. How could she be so calm? There were _demons_! Her feet carried her farther back, until her knees hit something sturdy and she tripped. The ice was melting away, and the Shade was starting to move again. A panic filled her heart, and her hands groped around to pull her up.

Her fingers wrapped around the unmistakable wood of a staff.

Focus built a wall around her emotions, and the calming feeling of the staff in her hands restored her confidence. She could do this. She threw more offensive spells at the Shade, determined to banish it from this world before it could take her. The sight of its evaporating form gave her a wave of relief, and victory flushed her cheeks.

“Drop your weapon!” Cassandra barked, the pointy end directed towards her now. The relief was gone.

“Alright,” she responded slowly. “I'm putting it down.” As tightly as her fingers were wrapped around it, she knew that Cassandra needed to trust her, and that wasn't going to happen with her carrying around a staff.

“... Wait.” Cassandra sheathed her sword. “I cannot protect you, and I cannot expect you to be defenseless. Keep the staff, but remember that I will not hesitate to attack. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Come along then, we'll find our way from here.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! The next chapter will be posted in a week or two.


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